Alien
by Terrify
Summary: It's a beautiful rain, beautiful rain.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

* * *

I saw him first in a dream.

I was running through some sort of version of my flat, trying to climb through the thick darkness enclosed in it, away from something. My feet were heavy, like I was trudging through tar, slowing down my pace. I couldn't look down, around me, or above--I could only stare forward into the wall of black that was settling in front of my eyes. My neck was unmoving.

My chest swelled with an anxious throb, heart stinging from running, trying to break though the cement hold on my feet. I was out of breath, mouth gaping, sucking in air that felt like water. I could see a window in front of me, open, inviting me to an escape.

I could hear the thick, heavy foot falls closing in behind me.

Somehow I broke through the hold on my feet, clambering to the windowsill, gripping it with white knuckles. The frozen air nipped at my nose and cheeks, tousling my hair with a sudden breeze. Safety. I lifted a leg to haul myself through the opening, fingertips tingling, propelling out into the air, out into safety, away from the creature stalking towards me, leaving it far far behind.

But I didn't make it to that window.

I never got to feel that breeze, that life, that safety, so close to me that it hurt. Burned.

The tar on my feet had stopped my movement all together, climbing up my legs, making me sink into where carpet once was. It oozed and bubbled as I twisted, desperate to get away, the goo reaching my waist. My living-room was dissolving around me. I twisted around, my neck finally breaking free from its iron hold, to try to find an alternate route of escape.

Instead, I came face to face will my monster.

Pale, thin, hollowed. Human.

His eyes were neon, a thick emerald that reminded me of rain forests and earth, churning with too much emotion. Two dark scars were chipped into his porcelain face, resembling a teardrop under each eye, mocking me as I opened my mouth to scream, cry, make some sort of noise.

He was beautiful.

I had never been more terrified.

The tar was at my neck now, rising up to my chin, my fingers sliding below the surface. The creature was kneeling, cupping my face with black leather gloves, eyes suddenly hidden by a black hood, delaying my fall into the darkness for another moment. He leaned down, thumbs tracing my jaw, dancing slowly across my lips, my cheeks, the lids of my eyes as he forced them closed.

He murmured something I couldn't hear, his lips brushing the tip of my nose, hissing out a sentence I would never know.

With a savage, violent push, I went under.

- - -

I woke up on the floor, curled up in an oversize comforter.

My bedroom was dark, the noises from the street outside rolling in. The light from my open window fell across my head, casting shadows on the wall.

Something warm was pressed against my side, an arm splayed across my hip haphazardly. Small puffs of breath tickled my neck, making the fine hairs on my neck stand on end. I turned slightly, the comforter shifting around us both, catching a glimpse of silver hair. I turned around fully to face my roommate, taking in his smooth pale skin and the small bit of drool clinging to the corner of his mouth. He looked overworked and exhausted, the dark rings under his eyes out of place. I took a glance at the clock on my bedside table—almost three in the morning. I gave a small groan.

Shifting the pillow half under my head, I adjusted it so that both of use were able to use it, still careful not to wake him up, before settling back down into my make-shift bed. I closed my eyes warily, suddenly unable to keep them open, mind flashing back to the feel of leather-clad fingers pushing my lids down. I curled up closer to my roommate, chilled from a sudden, sharp breeze that wafted in through the window, shivering slightly. I forced myself to sleep again, needed to sleep again, evening out my breath, slowly concentrating on relaxing each of my muscles from head to toe.

I was gone before I reached my shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

**One**

* * *

"You look like shit, Sor."

Sapphire blue clashed with teal. Both stared each other down, unmoving, unblinking, waiting for the other to give in first. With a sigh and nonchalant shrug, sapphire blue tore away, opting to look into his mug of coffee instead of his roommate's concerned gaze. He felt much too lethargic for someone waking up at noon, muscles aching under his caramel skin, limbs heavy. He took a sip from his cup, the bitter, sharp liquid burning his throat, the steam gently caressing his face with warmth.

The heater wasn't on.

He could still feel Riku's eyes on him.

Sora cleared his throat. " 'malright. Tired." He wasn't one for words.

"You sure? You were thrashing around pretty good last night," Riku took a sip from his own coffee, probably sweetened with heaps of sugar and flavored creamer. Sora knew he'd press the subject, keep prodding until he either gave up or Sora gave in. He need to make a quick escape.

" 'mfine. Don't worry," The brunette gave another shrug, glancing up at his friend, trying to find a reason to leave. He wasn't good with confrontations. Or mornings. "Gotta shower. Work at two."

With one final gulp of his coffee, he slid out of the room and out of Riku's sight, knowing that those teal orbs would still be burning through the wall after him.

- - -

The cafe was crowded today, giving Sora something to easily concentrate on. Fill a soda here, place a plate there. Collect the trash when someone left. Smile smile smile.

It was a dinky sort of place, very small, a sort of hole in the wall among the bustling streets of the city. Most people that went there were regulars, sitting in their usual booth or table, easily making conversation with the workers and other patrons. Others drifted in and out, some looking for a place away from the cold, some stumbling upon it while strolling along the road, curious as to what was inside. The air was always warm, the food was always warmer, and the door was always open. And it was Sora's home away from home.

He bustled from table to table, writing down orders and chatting with the other servers, sometimes taking a small break to snag a cup of rootbeer or steal one of the just-out-of-the-oven cookies that burned the roof of his mouth with each bite. It was comfortable, he was comfortable, watching the people come and go.

On his break he would sit in the back, gazing around the cafe, sipping from his glass of rootbeer, sometimes snacking on a few more cookies or a small sandwich. No one usually talked to him during his break, something he both loved and hated, though he never did anything to change it. So he sat, watched, wished, feeling the minutes of his life slowly creep by. They drifted out the door and into the street, fading into the gray sky without so much of a sound.

- - -

When he got back to his apartment that night, it was raining. Storming, to be more precise.

He was soaked to the bone, hair wild, shoes squelching on the linoleum of the entry way. He hopped from foot to foot, trying to regain some sort of warmth, before hurriedly taking off his worn sneakers and tossing them into the corner. The light flickered above him as he moved into the living room, a gust of hot air hitting him, the heating vents creaking as he gave a satisfied groan. It smelled like spaghetti and garlic bread.

He meandered into the kitchen, spotting his roommate hunched over their stove, stirring a large pot of bubbling red sauce. His silver hair had been tied back by a small string, keeping the strands out of his face as he worked, humming a nameless tune. A dash of this, a sprinkle of that, he raised the spoon for a taste.

"You're not going to feed an army, Ri." He wasn't good with jokes, either.

Riku spluttered, then coughed, jumping in surprise. He whirled around to face his friend, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "Holy shit man," he gasped, "don't _do_ that."

Sora gave a snort, pushing himself onto the counter, careful to avoid a splatter of garlic butter still lingering on the tile. He shook his head rapidly, spraying the small room with drops of water, hair sticking out every which way. They mirrored the drops outside as they fell to the floor. Riku gave him a weak glare.

He mumbled an apology, scuffing his heels on the worn cabinets, watching the silverette as he danced around the kitchen. He envied his constant energy, the bright joy that always seemed to float around him wherever he went. Quick to smile, to laugh, though general calm and composed. They were almost complete opposites.

Hopping off the counter, Sora peaked over the pot, stealing a finger full of the steaming sauce when Riku wasn't looking. Monday night spaghetti was a long-kept tradition between the two, each switching off when they'd make the dish. Riku's was always a whirlwind of flavor, rich and fresh, warming from head to toe. Sora's was simple and light, not too flavorful, not too bland, sometimes piled with onions and spicy sausages if he felt like doing something different.

Even their pastas were opposite.

Sora blinked, cutting himself off from his thoughts, face flushed from the steam of the pot he had been staring into. He rubbed at his eyes, dragging his hands through his now semi-dry hair, leaning against their refrigerator. He looked up to teal eyes, still concerned, still tired, inches away from his own. They were questioning him, trying to match Sora's non-verbal communication that he had somehow perfected.

_You're not okay_. No question, as Sora had thought before. He was returning to their sort of conversation from the morning.

_I am_. He replied, eyes dark, lashes still damp. He gave Riku a weak half-smile before ducking away, bustling around to get the bowls and forks out so they could eat, showing his roommate that he was indeed fine.

It felt like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

The spaghetti was served, and they settled into their worn couch, listening to the sounds of metal clinking against porcelain, each savoring the hot meal. Riku was laying on one side, knees bent, bowl balanced on his stomach. His hair had been release from it's earlier containment, dangling off the arm of the seat like streaks of moonlight. Sora sat curled up on the other side, feet tucked in under him, his bowl cupped in the crook of his elbow. They were both silent, the rain pattering down harshly outside, a roll of thunder sounding somewhere off in the distance.

The lights above them flickered for a moment, room shaking as another crash of thunder played, sounding like it was right over them, a deep roar that was deafening in the rickety flat. Sora tensed, stopping mid-bite before swallowing thickly, taking a deep breath. He was fine, he was okay, okay. He twirled the noodles around his fork and took another bite, sinking farther into his seat as he swallowed.

Another crash made him jump, the lights winking on, then off, before finally going black. He hastily set his bowl down on the coffee table in front of him, half full, before taking another heavy gulp of air. His hands were shaking.

"Aw man," Riku whined, voice somewhere to Sora's right. He heard the clink of porcelain on wood before the couch creaked, signaling he was getting up. Footsteps shuffled their way toward their kitchen and a drawer was opened, the sound of Riku digging through a pile of something melted in with the constant pattering of water outside. The drawer was pushed closed, hinges squeaking, before footsteps made their way back.

With a strike of a match, Riku's face was suddenly illuminated, the small yellow flame drifting down to the burnt wick of a candle, igniting it before the match burned out. He set the lit candle down onto the coffee table, holding another up to it to be lit, doing the same to numerous others. Soon the room was cast with a soft glow, candles of all shapes and sizes lining the surface before them.

Sora gave a sigh of relief, uncurling from his earlier position, watching the flames dance and flicker as they cast distorted shadows along the walls, each moving and fading along with the flames. Their apartment smelled like fire and wax, a smell he had always loved.

Riku settled back down onto the couch, closer to him than before, watching the lights play and swirl. They sat in calmed silence, the rain and thunder long forgotten, melting far away from both of their minds.

So it stopped.

Soon wick met wax, snuffing out the lights one by one as the hours passed. Riku was snoring lightly as the last one flickered out, the red, burning tip sending up a trail of gray smoke, creating shapes and swirls so contrasting against the blue light of the morning, so vivid.

As the smoke finally faded, the red ember of fire finally dying, sapphire eyes softly closed.


End file.
